


The Bouncer

by CharonDeLaPetiteMort



Series: Dream Journal [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Boss/Employee Relationship, Choking, Dominance, F/M, Knifeplay, POV First Person, POV Second Person, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, Sex, Slapping, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 18:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21324922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharonDeLaPetiteMort/pseuds/CharonDeLaPetiteMort
Summary: I'm a bouncer at your seedy strip club and I approach you for a raise. You offend me trying to drive a hard bargain, and I show you who's boss.
Series: Dream Journal [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537357
Kudos: 37





	The Bouncer

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a dream I had a while back, that has kind of been stuck in my head for a while now. Any others that might show up in this series will also be based on dreams I've had. As such, they're going to be more experimental, and written more from my own perspective in the dream. Some may be story like, such as this one, and some may be more surreal.

As I close and lock the doors behind the last of the patrons I had ushered out, I glance back at the now mostly empty club. I'd been bouncing at this strip club for a couple of years now, but it still always struck me how... off putting the place looked once the normal lights were on, the music wasn't playing, and the place wasn't filled with people. It felt... fake. As if everything in there was trying to create an air of elegance, but was doing so without understanding it.

Not that it was a bad club. It was actually quite popular, both with the clientele and with the ladies who worked there. Might have had something to do with how you ran it. People liked the idea of a strip club run by a woman, but you had a keen business sense as well, and you worked damn hard to make sure the place ran smoothly. Sometimes too damn hard, honestly. I could respect that, and I believed that you respected how well I handled my role here too.

_But respect doesn't pay the bills._

I did a walk through of the place several more times to make sure no more customers were hiding out, nodding or chatting with the cleaning staff and any strippers that were straggling to head home. Really though, I was waiting for everyone else to leave and for it just to be the two of us. Stopping by the restroom, I looked myself over in the mirror.

As always, I had dressed to impress. Being a bouncer, I made sure my simple, black t-shirt emphasized my chest and arms, built from long hours of hard work, and my jeans were just tight enough. Seeing that the neck of my shirt was stretched out put me in a bad mood. But the guy that grabbed me to begin with regretted that choice. I made sure of it.

One last pass, and the only sign of anyone being here, other than myself, is the light shining from your office door. I grab my leather jacket before walking over to the bar, grabbing a bottle and a couple of shot glasses, and heading your way, knocking on the door frame to let you know I was there.

Your office wasn't very big, and it was organized in a very messy way, the true sign of a desk that is actually used and not just for show. You looked up from your paperwork, some kind of ledger, and nodded for me to come in before returning to your work. You had a chair by your desk, but I didn't feel like sitting, instead placing my jacket on it and standing across from you.

You glance up at me again, before going back to work and asking "Do you need something?"

I place the two glasses down by your ledger, pour a drink in each one, and simply say "I need you to put down the pen, have a drink, and then we need to talk.", before placing the bottle at the side of your desk.

Again you glance up at me, and I guess you notice the neck of my shirt, because you ask "Did something happen? Is everything alright?"

"Nothing really. Just had to take care of someone getting too handsy. They tried to make a scene, and we introduced him face first to the pavement out back." I reply nonchalantly.

You nod, your mouth scrunched up in a look of appreciative distaste. "Good. Hopefully he learned his lesson. And good that you handled it so quietly, apparently." You start scribbling again in your ledger. "Look, I'm sorry, but there is a lot of work to get done before the end of the week. Can this wait?"

I let out a heavy breath before reaching down and pushing your pen, still in hand, down to the desk, and firmly saying "The paperwork will still be there. It will always be there. If it is that much work, you should hire an assistant. Now stop for a second and have a drink with me."

It's your turn to sigh, as you look up with dejected frustration. "I really shouldn't be drinking until this is done. And there is no reason to spend the money while I can still do the work myself."

I firmly, but gently, take your hand, remove the pen from it, and place the shot glass into it. "One drink isn't going to kill you, just de-stress you a bit. Or are you really that much of a lightweight?" That last bit maybe comes out more teasing than I intended, as I can see your face scrunch up a little in annoyance.

"Fine, one drink."

I let go of your hand and you stand to join me as we raise our shot glasses together.

"To the last two years." I cheer a bit gruffly.

"To the last two years." You repeat firmly.

We both drink the smooth, but strong, stuff and place our glasses back on your desk. You take a moment to look me up and down before cocking your head to the side and flatly asking "Okay, what is all this about?"

I smirk. "Alright, straight to the point it is. I want a raise. And a decent one."

You frown and shake your head. "You know that we can't afford that."

I stare straight down at you. "That's bullshit and you know it. This place is more packed than ever, and I know what you've got going on in the back rooms. You just don't want to spend money, which is why you'd rather stay up until dawn tallying beer bottles and microwave chicken wings rather than hire someone so that you can go home."

You cross your arms and cock your hips. "Oh yeah, because you know what it costs to run this place. What makes you think you deserve a raise anyway?"

Your attitude is actually starting to piss me off now, a bit of a scowl covering my face. "Really?! You know that I took some low pay to begin with to help you out when this place was first opening. And you know that I'm the most reliable one here and easily worth twice what you pay me. You KNOW what kind of shitshow this place would be without me."

Apparently striking a nerve, you walk around the desk to stand directly in front of me, having to look up at my taller figure, and jab your finger against my chest. "Look here, I don't like the tone you're taking with me. If you need a night or two to cool the fuck off I can get James or Conrad to come in and take your shifts."

My speech turns steady and firm, but raised. "James is a pussy that would rather smoke weed with the kitchen workers than watch the floor. And Conrad is just as likely to show up drunk as to not show up at all if you call him in on a weekend. And you _know_ that." I reach up and place a hand over yours, gripping it tightly. "And I would appreciate it if you would be a bit more respectful." I add softly but through a tightened jaw.

I don't know if it was the look on my face, the tone of my voice, or the sudden contact, but I can tell you suddenly were trying to deescalate, if only slightly, by gently pulling your hand back and covering your eyes with it as you let out a heavy sigh. You gesture towards me and, more softly now, tell me "Look, maybe we can work something out." Again, you kind of take a moment and study my face. "I've seen the way you look at Bella, what if you regularly got some time with her, on the hou-."

"Really!?" I interrupt "You're trying to pay me with pussy?"

You bring your hands up in a 'hold on' gesture. "Calm down. You talk about me being overworked, but you're clearly pretty damn stressed yourself. I'm just trying to help that. I'll even be generous and let you count that time as being on the clock."

My anger is rising again. "Generous? Are you fucking serious?"

Speaking firmly, you double down. "Yes, I am. It's technically more money, plus you'll be getting laid which might calm you down a bit, and maybe that's past due."

I'm suddenly very still as I stare down at you. "Oh, I am calm. And I want my raise."

I don't know if it's your previous experience with potentially dangerous negotiations, a sense you were gaining the upper hand, or just the booze kicking in, but you suddenly seemed a lot more confident in yourself. "I'm sorry, but that's the best I can do at the moment."

In silence, we stand there just staring in a tense moment.

"I see." is all I say as I move to step away, a bit of a soft smile crossing your face. As we both start to turn our separate ways, I ask "Would it be alright if it was a someone other than Bella?"

You casually bob your head. "Sure, I don't see why no-."

Your words are cut off as I grab a fistful of your hair and pull your head back to me.

"**Good**." I say through clenched teeth.

Your eyes go wide. "What do you think you'r-"

Again, your words are cut off as I sharply and painfully jerk you by your hair, your hands reaching back to grab my wrist. It doesn't stop me from pulling you backwards and slamming you onto your back on your desk.

"What the FUCK are you doing!?" You yell, your arms starting to flail at me.

I lift your head up slightly by your hair and slam you down again, the muscles in my arm bulging as I twist my hand into an even tighter grip on your hair and push the side of your face down into the desk.

"I'm just taking what I'm due."

You really start to scramble then, trying to thrash and kick at me. There's a shattering of glass as the shot glasses go flying. I lift you up again and turn your face to look at me before slapping you, hard, with my free hand.

It seemed to stun you for only a moment. "LET ME G-"

_SMACK_, rings out across your face again, harder this time.

_SMACK_, even harder.

Your face is bright red and hot, the impact aching in your jaw.

"Calm the fuck down. Right. Now."

You're still, just staring up at me, breathing heavily, feeling your heartbeat in your face. You finally break the silence. "Go fuck yourself."

Calmly, I reply. "Naw... That's what you're for."

I lean to reach into my jacket with my free hand. You start to struggle but I tighten my grip and stare hard at you. After a moment of fumbling, I drop something on the desk next to you. A folding knife.

Suddenly you're kicking at me and thrashing under my grip again, your hands trying to control my wrist. You actually manage to catch me in the ribs and slide back a bit, out of my grasp. You start to twist away but I snatch one of your wrists and yank you back.

Pinning that wrist, I hop onto the desk, scattering papers onto the floor and straddling your hips, painfully placing all of my weight on you at once. You squirm and struggle underneath me but I manage to grab a wrist in each hand and easily pin you to the desk, seemingly barely straining to keep you held.

"Last warning. Stop struggling." I say through gritted teeth.

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" you yell in return.

I bring both your wrists together and pin them above your head with one hand. You try to wrench and lever them free, and this is more of a struggle, but you've personally seen me man-handle guys much bigger, and stronger, than you. You're not weak, you're actually very strong for a woman. But you don't have the size, the mass, or the biology to win this.

"FUCKING LET ME GO!" you keep yelling as I reach over and grab the knocked over bottle of liquor and remove the top with my teeth, the cork popping loudly. Adjusting my grip of your wrists to help restrict your head, I bring the bottle up to your mouth. Seeing it, and apparently realizing what I'm doing, you close your lips tightly, grunting loudly and angrily in protest.

"Drink it." I say flatly. You shake your head no.

"_Drink it._" I repeat. Again, you shake your head no.

I put the bottle down and slap your face again. Not once, not twice, but three times, the heavy blows leaving your head ringing and tasting blood from a split lip.

"**Drink it!**"

"**FUCK YOU!**"

My hand goes around your throat, and for a moment, I just hold it there, staring coldly into your eyes. Then you can feel my grasp tighten slowly until you can no longer breathe. You start to struggle, but my grip doesn't budge and my eyes don't blink. Your eyes go wide and your chest clutches for air that won't come.

And then suddenly air rushes in as you gasp, shortly followed by a splash of liquor and my hand over your mouth, the smell of the alcohol permeating your nose. You cough, hard, and some of the booze runs down the sides of your mouth, but the rest you reflexively swallow. My hand leaves your mouth and you spend a few moment gasping and coughing as you try to catch your breath.

"Ready for round two?" I mockingly ask as my hand goes to your throat again.

"W-wait, wait!" you barely squeak out. "I'll fucking drink it, okay!? Just don't fucking drown me..."

I reach over and grab the bottle and bring it up to your lips. My grip won't let you raise your head much, so instead, I pour some into your mouth again, a small splash trailing down your cheek. You swallow the liquor, but the look on your face tells me you don't enjoy it.

I bring the bottle up to my mouth and take a drink of my own. Putting the bottle down, I reach down and grab your chin, pulling and holding your jaw open, before leaning down and pressing my mouth to yours, booze and my tongue spilling between your lips. You struggle to get away, but other than further wetting your cheeks, the liquor stinging your wounded lip, you don't make much progress before I pull back and cover your mouth again, almost nose to nose as I harshly stare into your eyes until you swallow the booze.

"_Good girl_." I mock as I sit back up. I know it's going to take a bit before the alcohol really does its job to take the fight out of you, so I figure it is time to play a bit. I reach over and grab the folding knife, flicking it open with one hand. I can see the concerned look on you face, though at least you aren't really struggling.

"Don't worry. Just making things easier." I say, bringing the knife blade down to your stomach. With a smirk I lift your shirt with the blade and softly run the back of the tip over the soft skin of your belly. Still enjoying the look on your face, I take the blade and begin slicing your shirt right up the middle. Pulling the cloth to both sides, I take the flat of it and run it up your body, making you shiver, before cutting the center clasp of your bra as well, the thin cloth snapping to the side and your chest spilling out, goosebumps rising at the sudden exposure.

I close the knife and slip it into my pocket, then reach my hand up and grab at a breast roughly. "I've wondered what these look like for years. Not what I imagined, but they'll do." I say flatly, taking a nipple and almost grinding it between my thumb and forefinger.

You fruitlessly try to struggle again before shouting "_Can't you just get this over with!?_"

I smirk at that and mockingly retort "C'mon Boss, I'm just getting _your_ money's worth."

I continue to grope and paw roughly at your chest and you're doing your best to just ignore it, to act like it isn't happening. Leaning down, I circle my tongue around your already hard nipple, enjoying the taste of your skin before taking it into my mouth and sinking my teeth into your tender flesh. Slowly, I draw back, scraping along every bit of your skin, making you squirm under me, making you suck air through your teeth.

I spend a few minutes toying with your breasts, licking, clawing, squeezing, biting, until I can see your skin grow flushed, hear the changing in your breathing, and see the trouble your eyes have focusing. Your head is spinning from the liquor, your arms growing limp in their brief flights at trying to escape.

_Playtime was over._

I swing my leg back over your hips, kneeling on the desk next to you, and sweep your legs into the crook of my arm, holding them tightly and pulling them towards your chest. For the first time in what seems like ages your arms are free to move as I let go of your wrists. You try to take the opportunity to fight or push back, but in your uncoordinated state you can't put up any real fight.

Still controlling your legs, I unlace and remove your boots, letting them fall to the floor with a heavy clunk. Pressing your knees tightly to your chest, tightly enough to make it hard to breathe, I slide back behind you, and you can feel the stiffness of my bulge press against you, being ground into you.

"Stooop, pleeese..." You squeak out, but your slurs go unheeded.

I shift back, getting off the desk and to my feet, before pulling you tight against me, the tall desk putting you at the perfect height for us to match hips to hips. Still controlling your legs, I reach down with one hand and start undoing your belt. You fumble to stop me to no avail, your belt coming undone, smoothly being pulled off of you and placed in the chair next to me.

"Doonn't..." you say as I start working the button of your pants, popping them open and pulling down the zipper. You try to kick at me but it only makes it easier for me to grab the back of your pants and pull them back, peeling them off of your legs, leaving you with so very little to cover you.

I take a moment to revel in this, pulling your hips back against mine and grinding against you through the thin cloth. You manage to keep from making noise but you can't hide the look that flashes across your face. Smirking, I reach down and slide a hand beneath the cloth, my fingers greeted by your warmth and your wetness. And without saying a word, I suddenly grip the flimsy material covering you and yank hard. You might have bruises along your hips tomorrow, but the stitching stood no chance as your panties rip free. I drop them next to you on the desk.

I grasp your knees to part your legs, and you do manage to resist this better than you have so far, but still your thighs spread to my brute force. I take a moment to look you up and down, your body splayed out before me, and then we meet eyes. Maybe it was the hungry and determined look on my face, or it might have been how exposed you suddenly felt, but I could see your eyes sharpen through the drunken haze and a sense of something... fear or panic maybe... set in.

You well up some inner strength, or maybe get a dose of adrenaline, and start to really kick and shove and writhe, more papers going flying. You manage to slide back and away from me, but it is simple enough to grasp your hips and pull you back, slamming you into me, your chest bouncing with the impact.

Reaching over to the chair I grab your discarded belt. Leaning over you, I grab and yank you by your hair, pulling your head down and slipping the belt around your neck. I grip the belt tightly in one hand, thread the loop with the other, and with a quick tug it tightens round your throat. Sliding a hand up its length, I tighten it more, cutting of your breath once again, and pull towards me, leaving you half sitting up on the edge of the desk.

Still gripping the belt tight, I lean in real close, face to face, seeing the panic setting in, your hands reaching up to grasp at your makeshift collar. "Don't make this harder on yourself than you already have." I say firmly.

For a few more moments the only noise is your own soft choking sounds. And then suddenly I release the belt, air rushing into your lungs just as I push you down onto your back. You cough and sputter, your hands rubbing at your throat and loosening the belt just the bit more that the little bit of slack will allow.

In your coughing fit you miss the sound of my pants unzipping, the faint noises of shifting cloth. But what you didn't miss was the heavy thud, and the feeling of heat, upon your abdomen. Still lightly sputtering, you look down and see it, swollen and angry looking, laying there as if to preview how deeply you're about to be violated.

There is a still moment between us, each looking at the other as if lost in our own thoughts. You glance away from what is between your legs to look up at me. "Y-you don't have to do that. If you want mone-" Ignoring you, I yank on the belt like a leash, mostly just to shut you up, but also to bring you slightly closer. With my other hand I reach into my pocket and then toss a condom onto your stomach.

"If you want it, you'd better put it on me. Cause I'm not pulling out."

At first you look at me with a conflicted expression, seemingly having some kind of internal struggle. And then with a face of resignation and contempt, you reach out and take the foil square, sloppily tearing it open in your weak and clumsy state.

"Be careful. Wouldn't want to put a hole in it."

You hazily glare at me as you reach down and grasp my length, quickly and roughly unrolling the condom down it. You then bring your hands up to your face and look away, I guess trying to mentally distance yourself from what is about to happen, but I'm not letting you ruin my fun like that.

Pulling the belt again, I slide my hand up until I'm gripping right next to your slender little throat, my thumb coming up to turn your head to face me. That hateful glare of yours returns, meeting my own stare full of sadistic anticipation.

Reaching down, again my fingers trail between your thighs, finding you hotter and wetter than before. Pulling my hips back, I drag the head of my length down your body, until I can slide it between your lips, the slick sounds as I grind around filling the air between our mutual stare down.

Not letting you turn your head away, I thrust forward, my hips forcing your thighs apart, my stiffness forcing your lips apart. You can't help but let out an 'Oh Fuck!' at the deep and full sensations overwhelming you, and even I am forced to let out a long, low grunt. I leave myself buried to the hilt, rolling my hips and grinding against you, my pelvis pressing against your most sensitive spot, my length tensing and throbbing alongside your own involuntary clenches.

But quickly growing impatient, I soon start moving, slow strokes at first, but my rhythm building quickly. Hard, rough thrusts that send your body rocking with the impact, my free hand wrapping around your back to keep you in place, leaning over you to get a better, deeper angle. The sound of our bodies colliding fills the room, mixing with my own animalistic grunts and your soft whimpers and pained noises.

My assault on your body continues, sweat building up on each of us, our breaths growing heavy. Slowly, the hate on your face fades away, probably not because you feel it any less, but it gets harder for you to concentrate given the pain and heat and friction radiating through you. And by the way your eyes suddenly go wide, the shouting of "_**Fuck**_", and the rumbling moans, I don't believe you expected how quickly you grew so hot and how hard you went over the edge, your body spasming under mine, clenching around me as if to pull me over the edge with it.

Soon your body goes limp, your eyes half shut and your breathing ragged, still making little pained noises at my continued rutting. And in time my own breathing starts to get heavy, sharp breaths being forced through clenched teeth. I start to pick up my pace, my hands gripping you tighter and tighter, until I finally give a particularly hard and deep thrust, my whole body clenching as I spasm, my hips rolling as if to try and force myself even deeper.

My weight is pressing you into the desk as I catch my breath and ride out the last little spasms and throbs of my pleasure. Both of us are catching our breath, our bodies glistening in the cold fluorescent light of your office, when you finally break the silence, hoarsely saying "You've had your fun. Get the fuck out."

In all honesty, at that point I had been done, but your attitude irked me and sparked me just a bit more, and I wonder if you could tell that from the way it made me throb inside you.

"Don't worry. The pay's not good enough for me to want to stick around." I add with more than a little venom in my voice.

I pull away from you, sliding out as I go, and pulling your head along with me. Keeping you low and looking down on you with a cold expression, I add "I don't know how much you charge for this, but add it to the bill." And with that, I spit on your face and roughly smear it around before wiping my hand clean in your hair.

Finally releasing my grip on your neck, I shove your face backwards, letting you fall back onto your desk, your expression making you look too drunk and exhausted to do much more than lie there and recover. I reach down and pull the condom off and toss it messily on your stomach.

"A souvenir for you..." I say as I put myself away and walk back behind your desk. I hit a button and grab the tape that ejects from the security system. "And a souvenir for me." I don't look at you or even say another word as I walk back, grab my jacket from the chair, and walk out of both your office and the club, making my way down the street, back home.

Maybe fifteen minutes have passed when my phone starts to buzz. I check it, only to see I have a message from you.

"_I need you to come in a couple of hours early tomorrow to discuss your performance review._"

I let out a low chuckle and shake my head.

"As long as I'm on the clock."


End file.
